HIGH STAKES

Chapter Ten

"Kung Pao chicken?" Lindsay laughed. "Trust a former chef. But yes - that's right. I found the same trace on his clothes. It was all across his back, beneath the blood. So I doubt that he was cooking, unless he's unbelievably clumsy or has a very strange technique."

Jo frowned at the woman. "Maybe he works in a Chinese restaurant?"

"Dressed like that?" Lindsay gestured at the faded jacket. It was made of good material, and had clearly seen better days. The nasty green had probably been quite pleasant, once upon a time.

"Point taken. Anything else?"

There was a little pile of paper and fluff sitting on the light table beside the jacket. Lindsay reached out and snagged a tiny note, folded over and over. She laid it in Jo's palm and watched her nimble fingers unwrap the message hidden inside.

"What is that?" Jo wrinkled her nose.

"I don't know - but I don't like it. I found it in his pocket." Lindsay shook her head. "It reminds me of Treasure Island. You remember? The pirates, and the black spot. There's something very sinister going on here. It gives me the creeps."

Both women stared at the piece of paper. It was about the size of a post-it note and worn thin from constant folding and unfolding. Scratched across the centre in what looked like human blood was an angry cross.

Death, said the mark, without a single word.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Danny had finished packing up John Street's computer for transportation. Wandering back to the kitchen, he came across Mac, red-faced and staring at his cell phone as though he would like to pitch it out of the window.

"Let me guess. Sinclair?" said the CSI, with sympathy.

"What tipped you off?" Mac shook his head wearily. "Looks like the snipers are on their way. And the squad cars. And the whole damn media circus..."

"You don't think Bob's gonna like that? Maybe publicity is exactly what he wants."

"I don't like that. The media are a liability. And the spin they put on this might well hurt Adam, or the lab."

"What do you mean?" Danny stared at his boss in consternation. "The killer's at fault here, not Adam."

Mac opened his mouth as though he were about to say something. Then he closed it again, and smiled grimly. "Of course," he said. "You're right. I'd better go down and greet them. You keep at it in here. The hour is nearly up, and we don't have much to go on. I only hope Jo has something for us. If not..." He let Danny's imagination finish the ominous sentence. He could not bear to say the words himself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Don," whispered Adam. "Please. Is it time yet?"

The detective sighed. He was beginning to feel like a parent on a long trip with his kid. Adam had been nudging him every five minutes for the last half hour, each time growing more agitated. The wound on his neck had puffed up into a nasty red welt, and he rubbed at it constantly. "Hey. Leave that alone," said Don, swatting his hand away.

"Can't help it," Adam breathed. He clenched his fists. "Why don't we go now? He's been over there for ages."

Don considered. Maybe the lab tech had a point after all. This could be the best chance they had to get away. Bob was peering over the wall, distracted. He seemed to be watching something - which meant that he wasn't watching them.

"You're right. We'll do it." Don stared at his companion. "Sure you'll manage? You look a little peaky."

Adam giggled, light-headed with relief. "That's an understatement. But thanks for the concern. I'll manage. I have to. If we wait here any longer, I think I'll freeze to the spot."

The rain had died away, but the two men still felt its after-effects. Their clothes were damp and their hair was wringing wet. Every now and then, little tremors ran down Adam's bare arms - unnecessary reminders of how cold he had become.

Keeping a close eye on Bob, the detective slipped the key out of his pocket. "Keep your arm up," he warned. "Don't let on until the last minute. He may turn around, and we don't want him after us at any cost."

"No, we don't," Adam nodded fervently, gazing at Don with absolute trust. The detective began to feel nervous.

"Adam - look, if this goes wrong..."

"It won't go wrong." The lab rat shook his wrist. "Come on. Let's do it."

One at a time, first Adam's, then his, the detective unhooked the cuffs. He caught them quietly and laid them on the rooftop. "Ready?" he hissed. "Let's go!"

Both men leapt to their feet. At the same time, an all too familiar noise cut through the air. The wail of sirens, shrieking to a halt beside the building, far below.

"Oh, God!" cried Adam, as Bob turned round to check on them.

For one awful second, nobody moved. Then Flack grabbed Adam's arm and pulled, almost yanking it out of its socket.

The two men ran.

"So... sorry... my... fault...too... soon..." gasped Adam, as they plunged around the corner and headed for the door.

"Shut up!" snapped Don, still holding on tightly. No way was he letting the other man fall behind. Neither of them looked back - they couldn't bear to. The fear was almost overwhelming, and their legs moved mechanically, so fast that Adam began to think he would lose control altogether.

The shot came later than they expected.

Don had nearly reached their goal, swinging Adam wildly out to the side so that the little man wouldn't crash into him when he stopped. It was that which saved the lab rat, in the end.

To his absolute horror, Adam saw Don fall. A single cry was all he gave, before his head connected with the plant pot. The lab rat dropped to his knees. He didn't care about the door any more, or even about the killer right behind him. He had to know if Don was still alive. Reaching out, he felt for the detective's pulse with trembling fingers. Don groaned - a welcome sound, but Adam was still terrified. Blood was already seeping from the detective's leg, where the bullet had ploughed into him. Adam swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat - and then looked up.

"Hello," said Bob.

A heavy fist smashed into Adam's face, right between his eyes.